


A Mountain of Monster

by KatiraPathara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fiend - Freeform, HEA, Hurt, Injury, Monster Slaying, Search for Meaning, Short One Shot, The Path - Freeform, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiraPathara/pseuds/KatiraPathara
Summary: Geralt has spent too long off of the path. He needs the action, needs the adrenaline rush that comes from fighting. What he doesn't need is Yen giving him a hard time about it.





	A Mountain of Monster

In the early morning air the day was still fresh with promise. Birdsong and the pleasant rustle of the breeze passing through stands of aspen surrounded Geralt and filled him with the peace he’d been seeking for several weeks.

It wasn’t that didn’t like being around Yen. Where the thick forest brought him peace, she brought him companionship and passion. One was soothing water, the other, a unquenchable fire. He needed both.

That said, she’d give him more than an earful when she discovered he snuck out before the break of day to fulfill a contract. Years ago, he’d tried to explain how he needed to fulfill his purpose just as much as she needed her potions and magic. Every day that passed without putting his skills to the test, without a rush of adrenaline, without a challenge, was a day he felt his age and the slow passage of time. 

He hated it. He hated how he couldn’t be at peace sitting around with friends drinking and enjoying himself day after day. He hated the itch of unfulfilled purpose. He hated starting fights with Yen when he finally succumbed to his altered nature.

If all went well, he’d be back before she realized he’d left. If it went poorly, she’d enjoy giving him a thorough tongue lashing while she patched him up. In a way, they’d both get what they wanted.

Geralt studied the ground, tracing the newly broken edges of three deep claw marks raking the dirt. The fiend was close. He tracked the heavy claw marks and slashes deep into the thick of the forest where it became much easier to follow the beast’s trail. The trees grew so close, there was only one path wide enough where the beast could have traveled.

Had Geralt not been under Yen’s watchful eye, he would have spent the previous day making as many samum bombs as he could safely carry. To properly face a fiend he would have preferred at least a dozen bombs secured in his belt. Seeing as that wasn’t an option, he was stuck with three. Once again, that blasted woman was making things difficult for him and she wasn’t even there.

As he walked, he drew his silver sword and a vial of relic oil. He needed every advantage in this fight. Fiends weren’t known for their easy nature. They were strong, fast, healed quickly, and even worse could hypnotise their victims. Blade readied and bombs in easy reach, Geralt was as prepared as he ever would be. He rolled the stiffness from his neck and shoulders.

He listened for the distinct heavy breathing and the slow heartbeat of the fiend. He’d hate to surprise it or worse, be surprised by it. The trail led down into a basin where the forest growth was far more sparse, this had to be the fiend’s lair.

Geralt strained to catch the subtle sound of the beast’s heartbeat again and was rewarded with the throbbing pulse of something large 200 paces ahead. He’d found it.

He crept through the trees, carefully placing each footfall to stay silent. If he could sneak up on the fiend, he might be able to strike a killing blow before it knew he was there. It wasn’t honorable, that’s for sure. Had the beast been sentient, Geralt would have taken every effort to convince it to leave the area and only hunt things that didn’t talk back.

As it was, this fiend murdered twelve working men from the nearby village and left their corpses to rot. It was one of those rare contracts where everyone agreed what must be done. Geralt traveled in a wide arc around the thick muscled back of the monster, seeking a high point. With the right leverage, and a bit of luck, he might be able to pierce the heart in one blow.

The likelihood of success was thin and Geralt knew it. The fiend’s thick skin and massive array of sharp-tipped antlers made a single plunging blow with a sword difficult at best, and downright impossible at worst. Bladed weapons tended to slide off its mane of thick stringy hair. But, if this strike was successful, it would mean the difference between a quick merciful kill and a long, drawn out battle. It was worth trying.

An old fallen tree created a ramp along the creature’s side. Geralt adjusted his grip on the silver sword, took a steadying breath, and fixed his target in his mind. He then bolted up the fallen trunk and launched himself into the air, sword poised to plunge between the creature’s ribs just beneath the shoulder blade.

Before the strike could land, the fiend whipped around, catching Geralt with the back of its claw and sending him flying.

Geralt twisted in the air to get his feet beneath him and landed off to the side of the monster. So much for trying to sneak up on it. The fiend’s sides bellowed in and out and it’s giant bull-like head swung back and forth searching for where he landed. The third eye on its forehead glowed an angry red.

Should that glowing eye fix Geralt in its sights, it would lock into his mind and blind him to all but that single red glowing point, hypnotizing him. He couldn’t risk it. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped a samum bomb free from his belt and flung it at the fiend’s head and then ducked low to avoid being caught in the blast.

A deafening crack shook the ground. Geralt didn’t waste a single second, he burst into a series of stabs and moulinettes, slashing at the disoriented fiend’s exposed neck. The fiend bellowed and stomped, swinging it’s antlers down to strike. Geralt dropped and rolled back out of reach, narrowly avoiding being speared.

The beast pawed the ground and lowered its head. Blood soaked into the matted hair on its neck. Geralt crouched and adjusted his grip readying for the charge. Regardless of the danger, this was the fight he craved. His heart beat strong and steady, his mind locked on a goal with a singular focus. He felt alive.

The fiend burst forward, head lowered with the intent to spear him through. Geralt spun in a neat pirouette, narrowly dodging the blow while bringing his blade down behind the fiend’s head and then rebounding off the gathered momentum to slice beneath the chin.

Fiends were almost cat-like in the way they could swat and pounce. Geralt didn’t see the claw shifting as he completed his upward slice, didn’t have time to dive away before the claw pummeled him full in the chest. The force of it flung him like a ragdoll across the dirt and made his ears ring.

He hurried to his feet, not giving the beast even a second to consider trampling him while he was down, and found himself face to face with that red glowing eye. It filled his vision, blacking out the world around him and making him forget.

The beast’s influence pressed heavy on Geralt’s mind, making it hard to think. He shook his head, trying in vain to clear the fog. The ground trembled under his feet. Geralt twisted, blindly dodging the blow he sensed coming. He misjudged the angle, misjudged the distance between him and the charging fiend. The sharp points of its antlers slammed into his side, forcefully parted the rings of his armor, piercing the leather all down his side and into his thigh, and pinning him to the ground.

Any second the fiend would lift him and start shaking those massive antlers, driving the points deeper and making mincemeat of his insides. If that happened, it would end him. He had to get free. In one sweeping motion Geralt grabbed and released a bomb into the fiend’s face and formed Quen with his other hand. The magical shield absorbed the brunt of the too close explosion and kept Geralt from being splattered across the dirt. The blast knocked the fiend’s head back and away, yanking the points of its antlers out of Geralt’s flesh.

Geralt pressed his hand against his side and felt hot blood seeping through the gaps in his armor. So much for getting out of this in one piece. He downed a swallow potion and quickly assessed the damage.

His armor had done its job, thankfully. The tight buckling held pressure against each pulsing point where the antlers had torn into him. He’d had worse. Geralt adjusted his grip on his sword and swung it a few times, testing on how it would pull on his injured side. Satisfied, he studied the fiend once more.

The beast snorted and pawed at its face trying to regain its senses from the effects of the samum bomb. It’s massive hairy shoulders slumped. It curled one of its clawed front limbs inward, as if protecting it. It breathed in harsh gasps.

The fight needed to end. Geralt hated to see anything suffer, even if it was a creature that only existed to cause trouble. Many said the same about him, about how unnatural he was, how he was a freak. If it had been him, he’d want the fight over, and quickly. The fiend would be slower now, those lightning fast reflexes dulled by pain.

Geralt tightened his grip and swept in on the fiend’s injured side. He brought the blade up into the neck, slicing deeply into the skin behind the heavy bones of it’s jaw. Then, with a leaping pirouette, he mounted the fiend’s back and drove his blade down through the point where its spine connected to the skull. The beast stiffened and fell lifeless to the ground.

Another contract complete. Geralt slid to the ground and took a few moments to catch his breath. The bleeding had slowed, by the time he returned to Yen his wounds would be closed and scabbed over. She’d still scold him, he could depend on it. Didn’t matter. He was a Witcher, this was his path. He felt alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm working on weaving in better emotional motivation in the story - let me know how I did :)


End file.
